Day for Independence
by BelleLitteraire
Summary: 4-part futurefic: a continuation on timeline from "Realities." Winner of a Highclere Award (Finalist, for Novella and Friendship/Family).
1. Part 1: Saoirse

**Part 1: Saoirse**

Saoirse Crawley Branson lay in bed wide awake, not able to sleep a wink, even though Da told her she needed to rest up for the big day. She shifted underneath her blankets, feeling her heart turn over in her chest, thinking about the parade she and her family would be attending. She turned her head towards her curtained window and wished with all her might that the sun's rays would start streaming in, but no luck. The view outside remained pitch black.

But even a three-year-old like her knew she should not be running around in the middle of the night, so she reached over and held the tiny Irish flag her father brought home to her yesterday afternoon. The broad green, white, and orange stripes seemed to glow in the dark, and Saoirse grinned happily imagining how she'd wave it as paraders marched, and her mouth watered thinking about all the sugary treats her father had promised her.

**x-x**

Yesterday afternoon, Saoirse was bored. Brushing her sandy ringlets from her face, oblivious to the fact that she was on the floor sullying her red and white cotton gingham dress, she targeted her prey. She kept her eyes on the fat tabby lounging in the mustard-yellow light shining through the sitting room windows. She advanced, creeping stealthily, making sure the floorboards didn't creak as she moved, and then she pounced upon Ulysses, grabbing his tail. The irritated cat hissed at her, and then stalked away in search of a more peaceful sleeping spot.

So she went to the kitchen, where her grandmother, who was over at their house more often these days, was helping her mother. They were preparing delicious colcannon, beef hand pie, lime tart, and soda bread – all of which were her absolute favorites. "It's like my birthday!" she exclaimed, and Mummy laughingly answered, "We're having a celebration for Ireland, my darling. Do you want to help me?" She nodded, happy to have something to do, so Mummy put a little apron around her and Gran helped her wash her hands. Then Mummy showed her how to pat the dough for the soda bread. Saoirse thought that Mummy made wonderful cakes, and she always talked about this cook she knew a long time ago, Mrs. Patmore, who had taught her all about baking. When Mummy and Gran weren't looking she sneaked some of the raisins into her mouth. She felt so proud when Mummy told her how glad she was of her help and dotted the tip of her nose with a light dusting of flour. Gran also smiled and said what a good helper she was being to Mummy, especially at this time.

Especially at this time! Mummy seemed too tired to play with her lately, which made Saoirse wish that this little brother or sister would come soon. This way, Mummy wouldn't always be so sleepy, and she could have someone else to play with besides the temperamental Ulysses. But the one wonderful thing about Mummy being home, Saoirse thought, was that she looked and smelled better. She wore bright colorful dresses, instead of the boring coarse gray she wore when she went to work, and smelled sweet like vanilla, not sour like medicine.

Now Mummy rested upstairs. The tortured Ulysses had disappeared, so under the watchful eye of Gran, Saoirse traipsed around the front garden to wait for Da. She ran her hand over the neatly trimmed hedge that she helped Da shape over the weekend, and spotted some elephant's ear. She decided to pop a leaf in her mouth, wondering if it tasted like the salads her mother made. She chewed, and feeling her tongue burning, spit out the leaf – no it certainly didn't! – and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then, hearing the shouts of her neighbors on the road, she hopped on the front gate and swung, watching them chasing and kicking a ball. The ball darted over her head and landed in the grass right behind her. Padraic O'Rourke ran over, calling, "Oi, Saoirse, give us the ball, will ya?"

She hopped off the gate and picked up the ball, wrapping her arms around it, holding it hostage. "Can I play with you?" she asked hopefully.

Padraic's fingers impatiently wagged for the ball. "No, you're too little." He wrenched the ball from her bracing hold. "There's a girl. Grand."

In response, she stuck her tongue out at him. She knew her mother would sternly disapprove of that unladylike behavior but she didn't care. One day she wouldn't be so little and she'd show them when she went off on her adventures. Da always told her that she could be anything she wanted to be; she just had to be patient. She wanted to venture farther out, on the lookout for his brown felt hat and listening for him whistling a tune, but she glanced back into the garden and saw Gran among the daffodils and roses, inspecting the flower beds for weeds. She didn't want to be too sneaky, especially with Gran, so she kept swinging on the gate.

Saoirse loved Mummy more than anything, but she loved Da just a little bit more. She thought he was the smartest man in the world and he could do anything. She had watched him make her a swing from a piece of wood he sanded smoothly so that it became a comfortable seat, and drilled holes into which he strung through heavy, tough rope. He securely tied the swing to the tree he used to climb as a boy in Gran's garden. And she loved it when he pushed her so high it looked like her feet were touching the clouds. Da could also fix her toys. She had a habit of sometimes playing too rough with them and she marveled at how expertly he put her broken and squeaky wagon back together when she had crashed it into a tree.

But best of all, he told such wonderful stories! Bedtime, whenever Da was home, was her favorite time with him. He told her stories about magical wizards and scheming sorceresses who cast evil spells, of fairies who made little girls' wishes come true, of heroes and maidens, and of celestial beings that lived on mountaintops and threw lightning bolts from the sky. She loved how Da began every story with "Once upon a time," and ended with "…happily ever after." She'd have a satisfied smile on her face as Da kissed her and sent her off to dream of more amazing adventures.

The best story he told, however, was a simple love story. Perhaps it was the way he told it that captured her imagination and touched her heart. It was about a boy from Ireland who, a long, long time ago, was curious about the world and longed for adventure. So when he grew up, he kissed his family goodbye and sailed on a great big boat, carrying with him only his family's love and a pocketful of dreams. The ship sailed for a faraway land across the sea, and when he landed at those foreign shores, he went exploring. He soon found himself at a grand castle. A beautiful lady, who looked very, very much like her (and at this Saoirse's blue eyes widened and she giggled), lived in the castle. The lad thought she was the most wonderful lady he had ever met and he fell deeply in love. She wore light blue _jupe-culottes_ just like the princesses wore in _The Arabian Nights_, and she had special healing powers that helped everyone who was sick get well again. _("Like Mummy!" Saoirse had gasped. "Yep. Just like Mummy," Da had answered with a grin.)_ The lad stayed near the castle, hoping and wishing the lady would one day come to love him and run away with him. He waited and waited, and saw many seasons pass. Rain showers fell and flowers bloomed, days grew long and the sun shone bright and hot, then the air grew colder and leaves from trees died and fell, and finally the snows blanketed the castle, then melted into puddles and rain showers fell again. And even with all the changes and passage of time, the lad did not stop loving the lady. He kept waiting, and his love never changed—if anything it only grew stronger. One day, the lady rewarded the lad's patience by saying she loved him back. At that moment all his dreams came true. They were both so happy, and they ran away to have adventures together.

"Did they live happily ever after, Da?" Saoirse could barely contain her excitement the first time she heard this story that she was sitting up, cross-legged on her bed.

"Of course they did, love," her father smiled. "They sailed back across the sea and had lots of adventures and they did live happily ever after."

"I want to have brave adventures like that boy," she sighed, settling back onto her pillow. "I want to go on a boat and see castles and talk to lots of interesting people."

Da pulled her blankets up to her chin and stroked her hair. "And you will. You can do anything you want, be anyone you want to be. You just have to be patient, but never give up your dreams. Someday you will be big enough to make them come true."

**x-x**

Tonight, she was going to ask Da about tomorrow's parade and all the things she would see. She felt like this was going to be her first real adventure, and she could hardly wait.


	2. Part 2: Mummy

_I wasn't sure how well Saoirse would be received so I was pleasantly surprised by the positive response here and on twitter! I try to respond personally to each reviewer, so thank you to the Guests who took the time to post their thoughts. Enjoy part 2…._

* * *

**Part 2: Mummy**

Sybil awoke from her nap, stirred from sleep by the raucous laughter of the neighborhood children playing outside. She looked out the bedroom window from the second story, which gave her a view of the front walk and gate. And swinging on that gate was her daughter, her two little hands gripping the wooden slats and left leg hitched onto the crossbar at the bottom. She watched as Saoirse pushed off the pavement with her right foot and then smoothly position herself on the crossbar. She swung slowly and gently on the gate, her red dress billowing. _I must braid her hair, _Sybil thought, as she noticed Saoirse's unruly sandy curls flowing freely behind her, her loose ribbon fluttering. Saoirse inherited her wavy mass of hair, not her father's fine straight strands, and Sybil had a devil of a time keeping her long hair neatly styled.

The children's ball bounced into the grass behind Saoirse, and she heard Padraic, their paper boy, call, "Oi, Saoirse**…."**

She couldn't help but burst out laughing when she saw a long-ago version of herself defying Carson or reacting to a scolding by her governess. If one were to ask Tom he probably would have seen his own rebellious streak in her. Their daughter never failed to surprise her every day, and she saw how very like her she once was – willful, expressive in her likes and dislikes, and never hesitating to scream or say "no" if she was so inclined. She was feisty and quite a self-centered little person, which sometimes meant you got a stuck-out tongue in response to your requests.

**x-x**

Before Saoirse was born Sybil decided that if the baby was a girl, her name would be Emma Laura. Tom, the deep thinker that he was, wanted a name that was distinctly Irish, to honor his forefathers and one that had some grand meaning. But Sybil thought the Irish names too difficult to spell and pronounce and she stubbornly clung to the rationale, "If I'm the one carrying this baby for nine months, then I'm going to be the one to name it."

One afternoon, during their visit to Downton, where Saoirse was eventually born, she and Tom were meandering the spacious lawns. They had stopped for rest and shade on a bench underneath the canopy of a weeping beech. There he told her about an interview he conducted that haunted him, and he couldn't escape its memory. He told her of a visit to a railway driver's home, and how much the driver's impassioned thoughts on politics resonated with him. "Just imagine, this man could've really been a great influence if he decided to go into politics. The way he was talking about how our people were stuck in the grip of the British government…Ireland can't get extricate itself from the very masters it's dependent on for its economic survival. But this man, he had ideas on how we could do it, and how we could finally free ourselves from that dependency. He really struck a chord in me," he said wistfully.

Sybil's own heart swelled with love and pride for this man next to her. "I had no idea, darling, you never said," she replied, taking his hand in hers.

Then he confessed to meeting the man's daughter Saoirse. Sensing his heartbreak at the memory, Sybil took Tom's face into her hands, and kissed him. She pressed her lips to his gently at first, hoping to give him that peace that he craved, and then fervently, when his response to her quickened. When they parted for breath, Sybil interlaced her fingers with his and decided that she was still going to name the baby, and prayed it would be a girl so she could name her for the little girl in grey.

Sybil had once challenged her own destiny to be with Tom and live in Ireland, and she believed its best days were yet to come. Her only fear for her daughter (as well as for the child to come) was that she might be trapped in a cage—stripped of freedom and choice—but no matter what, she wanted Saoirse to grow confident, to believe in herself. She hoped Saoirse would become a thinking, feeling person, sensitive to the world around her, with an identity carved out of kindness and love. Her utmost wish was that her name not just remain an emblem, but that her daughter would know what it was to be truly free—as a citizen of Ireland, and as a woman. So in the end, she knew that she wasn't the one who gave Saoirse her name, but that it was Tom, and he chose it well.

**x-x**

Seeing that her mother-in-law kept an eye on Saoirse, Sybil made her way downstairs to get supper ready. The door to Tom's office was ajar, and Ulysses was comfortably napping on the floor, straddling an area of the hallway and the entry to the office. This room, situated between their bedroom and Saoirse's, was supposed to be a spare bedroom. She felt guilty that Ma had to sleep in the sitting room whenever she stayed over; she supposed she could have Saoirse sleep with them, and have Ma sleep in her room. But Ma insisted that she could sleep anywhere and she didn't want to throw the household in disarray when her whole purpose of coming over was to help.

Tom's office seemed small, but it was only due to the volume of its contents. Books and paper warred for prominence in that space. Piled on a desk were the papers that Sybil teasingly described to Tom as "meticulously ordered chaos." On a side table there was a typewriter, on which she often heard Tom tapping early in the morning or late at night, as methodical and purposeful as the ticking of a clock. The collection of books in Tom's office paled in comparison to Papa's magnificent library. But these books, to Tom, were like friends, because to him, they were extensions of him and his ideas. He had books that were worn, with covers that frayed slightly at the edges or pages with sun-stained borders. Some contained underlines and notes neatly scripted in the margins. Every one of his books was read; none was in the library for the purpose of decoration. Sybil enjoyed reading, but Tom was the true bibliophile and the clever storyteller in the family. Sometimes she would stand right outside Saoirse's bedroom at story time and listen to the tales he'd spin. When she heard him tell their baby the story of the lad and the lady, she started to cry and she was almost afraid of being discovered for eavesdropping.

There was also a singular ornament in the room – a heavy brass clock – that presided over the entire office and rested atop one of the low bookcases. It was beautifully detailed with tableaus from Greek mythology, a porcelain face and bold black numerals. It was a gift from her father, given to her and Tom to mark Saoirse's birth. He presented it to them with the usual ceremony and gravity the occasion deserved, including all the servants. He even took pains to note that Thomas had oiled the mechanisms and set the gears in motion. Thomas had inclined his head, looked Tom straight in the eye, and bowed slightly. Tom later had told Sybil that the clock and Thomas' acknowledgement meant a lot to him – it was symbolic, he said, of his acceptance by both her family and the downstairs staff.

**x-x**

Sybil did not regret any of her life choices, especially the ones that brought her to Dublin. She loved her life with Tom and Saoirse, and she loved her extended family in Ma, Tristan, and Mabel. She still enjoyed her nursing work, even though at times it was difficult not to feel racked with guilt when she made a mistake, not to feel grieved when she couldn't help to heal a patient, and not to feel empty when she was overworked and uninspired. If not for her family, Sybil would have felt no comfort or purpose in her life. She could not complain: she had a happy home life, one full of laughter and love.

She heard the front door open and Tom calling, "Hello! Sybil! Let's look for Mummy, yeah?"


	3. Part 3: Da

_Thanks again for all your kind comments (and I'm also grateful to the Guest who posted a nice compliment). The story concludes next time, but for now, here's Tom._

* * *

**Part 3:** **Da**

"Tom, do I hold your heart or do I hold you down?" Sybil asked him this question long ago, when Tom was a junior reporter, before he was promoted to Jamie Stewart's investigative team. They were in bed, having just made love; even though he was shattered from a long day at the paper he had given in to Sybil's tempting charms and brazenly amorous advances. Now spent, his eyes were closed and he was savoring her sultry lips on his shoulder, her warm breath in his ear, and her soft caresses on his chest. But she craved one more thing of him: she had wanted to know if he had any regrets, if his political dreams and ambitions had gone unfulfilled.

Tom learned that life with Sybil was filled with hard truths and complex surprises. The early days of marriage, with all the euphoria and passion that marked that time, was like a white hot fire, rapturous and ferocious. In the beginning, when everything was new, he felt so blessed, so damned lucky that she agreed to be his wife, and he wanted to give her everything he could in his power – to take care of her for the rest of her life. Now, years later, that fire tempered to a flame, but one that still glowed warm and bright.

His young wife was a revelation. She excelled as a nurse, but it wasn't easy for her in Dublin at first. She experienced blatant prejudice from her colleagues that, for the most part, she had surmounted. However, it distressed him that their sunny newlywed days were tarnished by the shadows of hatred and bigotry. While sometimes his instinctual reaction was to march over to the hospital or to the shops to give such narrow-minded people a fist and a piece of his mind, Sybil would rein him in. She said it was enough for her to know that he was on her side. "What are we always hearing from Father Farry almost every Sunday, darling?" she would say. "That we should be turning the other cheek. Besides, think about our children. Do you want to be fighting with our neighbors, the same people who might be our children's doctors or teachers?"

"I hate it when they snub you or don't even give you a chance."

She would put a calming hand on his. "You know me. I can handle anything, so long as you're with me."

Her words did not do much to quell his desire to stand up and fight for her, but they appealed to his rational side. So he resolved instead to make her as happy as he could at home.

She became an economical and efficient homemaker, and continued to rely on his mother for edification and help. She had told Tom on more than one occasion that Ma was just as much of a mother to her as her own, which pleased him more than any compliment she ever gave him. She was an adoring wife and a doting mother. She had once referred to the days of dress fittings, dinners, shooting parties, and London society gatherings, telling him that she can never go back to that again. He believed her then, and she'd more than proven it since.

But Tom also learned that Sybil could be as demanding as a spoiled child, and petulant besides, with a temper and a mouth like his own. She could be nasty, with her withering looks that devastated him and made his heart sink. She could also hurl hurtful insults as quick as the Dowager Countess.

With time, they eased into comfortable companionship and he learned two very good things about living with Sybil: the first, if she acknowledged a mistake and apologized, she never made it again; second, she was always willing to work out their differences. Because of these qualities, he knew she was worth everything – even if he never became a socialist politico – flaws and all.

**x-x**

When their baby girl arrived, no father could be more proud of the birth of a healthy child, all fingers and toes accounted for. Tom's heart beat faster as he beheld this perfect creation in Sybil's arms, a person born out of the love he and Sybil shared. She had Sybil's eyes and mouth, and a bit of him around the jaw, and his nose. Her soft downy hair was light brown and Sybil had remarked that she hoped the child would have sleek hair like his – that she didn't want her daughter cursed with a tangly mane like her own. At that he had laughed, and said her hair was one of her best features; he was a little disappointed that she had cut it off and now sported a short bob. She just gave him a playful eye roll, and then offered him the sleeping bundle, saying, "Would you like to hold your daughter Saoirse?" His heart leapt into his throat. Tom wasn't a crying man, but at that moment, he was overcome with emotion, looking blurrily down at his daughter and then at his wife, with whom he fell in love all over again.

**x-x**

He spotted the little girl on the gate and beamed. The gate slowed, and she was gathering momentum to swing again, but something caught her attention. She got down on her knees and stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth, concentrating on whatever it was that fascinated her. She was reaching out to touch something on the ground.

"Saoirse!" he heard his mother call. "Get up off the ground. You don't want to be grubby for your da, do you?" Ma was a petite, wiry woman, with graying brunette hair and hazel eyes. She had energy that never seemed to flag, and Tom couldn't recall when his mother was ever ill.

Saoirse jumped up, and holding a wriggling creature between her thumb and forefinger, called, "Gran! I found a worm!" She scampered over to the flower bed to show her.

Tom caught his mother's eye and put a finger to his lips. She winked back, and Tom walked toward the gate, whistling. Saoirse heard him and squealed, "Daaaa!" Still holding the worm in her hand, she ran to meet him and grabbed his legs. She looked adoringly up at him, smiling widely.

He looked down. "What's this, what have you got there, love?"

She proudly held out her hand and showed him the soft pink creature twitching on her palm. "A worm!"

"Aye, so it is. And what are you going to do with it?" he grinned.

His mother made her way to the gate. "Put that down Saoirse, really!"

"Ah, Ma, don't fuss," Tom said. Saoirse dropped the worm, which gratefully made its way back to the safety of the flower bed, and raised her arms. Tom picked her up, and she wound her arms around his neck. "How are my girls? Where's Mummy?"

"We had a full day of cooking and baking. She's resting upstairs," Ma answered. "Here, let me get your bag."

The trio made their way down the walk into the front hall. Tom called, "Hello! Sybil! Let's look for Mummy, yeah?"

"No," Saoirse declared, and the arms that ringed around his neck tightened, and she laid her head against his shoulder.

"Saoirse, I have to put you down. Go on now, I have a surprise for you later."

Ma took her son's hat off and hung it on the hat rack, and placed his bag on the hall table. "She might still be sleeping. I can heat up supper."

The lingering scent of beef and colcannon made Tom's stomach grumble. He'd missed eating lunch that afternoon. "That would be grand." Trying to unlock Saoirse's strangling hold, he added, "Oh, have you seen Tristan? Will he be joining us for supper?"

She snorted. "Have no idea. Funny how we see that lad, and we don't really see him. He spends more time next door than he does with his own family."

"Ah, come now, Mabel's nice."

"I find it peculiar that my boys are not interested in Irish girls, that's all," she said, but not unkindly, and she made her way to the kitchen. Tom smirked at his mother's quip. He had himself an English girl and his brother was in love with a Canadian one.

Sybil appeared, coming slowly down the stairs, holding the small of her back. "Mummy!" Saoirse released her hold on Tom and was eased down on the floor. She scrambled over to Sybil, who stroked the top of her head, and then over to the hall table. She took hold of Tom's bag and single-mindedly set about trying to unlock the clasps of his bag. Sybil kissed Tom and asked, "What's this about Tristan joining us?"

"I just wanted to make sure we have enough to eat in case he comes by for supper." He looked back at Saoirse continuing to tug at his bag and frowned. Looking back at Sybil, he added, "You and Mabel might be doing some party planning soon." He flashed her a knowing grin, one that he knew drove Sybil crazy because she didn't like to be kept in the dark on anything.

"What?" Sybil tilted her head and her eyes gleamed with interest, her curiosity piqued.

"I'm not saying anymore, except that I hadn't eaten lunch because I was with Tristan during my break, shopping for shiny things. And I'm very hungry." He started off towards the kitchen. "Let's eat, love," he called over to Saoirse, who was still struggling with the clasps.

Sybil playfully smacked his arm. "You cannot leave me in suspense like that!"


	4. Part 4: Parade Day

**Part 4: Parade Day**

Saoirse obediently waited, but only because she was forced to. She was swinging on the front gate, mindful that Da told her she needed to stop running around and screaming in the house, and to go outside while he helped Mummy. She was brimming with energy, so she worked some of her anticipation off by swinging fervently on the gate. But she was careful not to muss her dress, a white cotton dimity with orange and pink tulips and green leaves. When Mummy dressed her she warned her not to get dirty because if she had to change, they would be late for the parade.

She stopped when she heard a giggle on the other side of the hedge. Following the sound of flirtatious laughter, she ventured over to the small picket fence that separated the garden area with Auntie Mabel's. She climbed on the fence, and saw Uncle Tristan and Auntie Mabel standing together. Uncle Tristan was wearing a flat cap and a white collar shirt tucked into light colored trousers. His sleeves were rolled up and he was trying to pluck a flower from Auntie Mabel's flower bed. Saoirse thought Auntie Mabel laughed a lot – too much whenever Uncle Tristan was around, and she couldn't figure out why. Uncle Tristan looked like Da – they all three shared the same light brown hair – but his eyes weren't blue, he was a little taller, and he was quieter and didn't tell jokes like Da. So she didn't understand why Auntie Mabel found him so funny all the time.

"Hello!" Saoirse called over the hedge.

Uncle Tristan startled like he'd been caught red-handed stealing cookies from a cookie jar, and his face started to turn a deep red. "Child, what are you doing, lurking there?"

"Waiting for Da and Mummy," she innocently replied.

"Oh!" cried Auntie Mabel. "We'll be going to the parade with you. I'll just pop inside to get my hat and purse. Back in a jiffy!" There was another one of her odd expressions. Saoirse also thought that Auntie Mabel talked awfully funny. Auntie Mabel liked to tell her that she was "the bee's knees," which made her laugh, because she and Mummy once looked at a picture book of insects and she saw that bees definitely had _no_ knees. Mummy explained that sometimes Auntie Mabel had a different manner of speaking, because she wasn't from Ireland, but it did make talking with her interesting.

Uncle Tristan took off his cap and went around the front walk, and through the gate to Saoirse. He sat on the front steps, and beckoned, "Come on," patting his knee. Saoirse came over and sat on his lap. "You excited to be going to the parade, lass?"

"Yep! I'm going to have lots of ice cream and sweets too!"

"Sure, there'll be lots of that. But this parade is special. You want to know why?"

Saoirse looked at Uncle Tristan's serious face and into his hazel eyes. She had a feeling he was sad, and she nodded, wanting to make him happy like Auntie Mabel did.

"Our people have been fighting. Brothers against brothers, friends who have laughed and cried together pointed weapons at each other. But it was because we dreamed so big, and we hoped for so many things that haven't yet come true. Today, the fighting has stopped, but there's still a ways to go before our dreams come true."

"We have to be patient before our dreams can come true. That's what Da always says," she said earnestly.

"That's right." Uncle Tristan smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "We do. So today we're celebrating all our hopes and dreams because we want to keep them alive. And I hope that when you're big enough, you will experience our country's dreams fulfilled."

"What's 'fulfilled'?" she asked.

"When everything you've been praying for comes true."

**x-x**

Tom and Sybil were dressing in their bedroom. Tom buttoned his waistcoat over his shirt, then he secured his pocket watch before he peeked at his face in Sybil's large mirror atop her vanity table. He had to maneuver behind her, as she was already seated in front of it, inspecting her own image. She looked at his reflection and smiled. "You look very fine," she remarked.

He looked back at her own reflection and ran his forefinger across her cheek. "You don't look so bad yourself," he replied.

She turned around, arching her brow. "That's all I get? You're such a romantic."

He laughed and kissed her, holding onto her arms and leaning in close. "All right. What would you have me say? That you have been, still are, and always will be to me, the most stunning woman in the world? That I still find you incredibly alluring–"

"Even when I'm as fat as a cow?" she interrupted, pouting.

"You're not fat. You're beautiful, especially when you're having a baby," he corrected, running his finger under her chin.

"Right!" Sybil laughed. "I'm sure you don't appreciate my sending you off in the wet night to fetch me some spiced sausages and cheese."

Tom straightened and chuckled, "Ah, for me it was a minor inconvenience to be awakened from my deep slumber to wade out for you, but I don't think the butcher was as forgiving, _ma mhuirnín._" He saw Sybil wince, and he added lovingly, "We'll just have to keep the larder well stocked with all your favorites, won't we?"

"Honestly, this baby is making me act stranger than I did last time."

Half-teasingly, but with some curiosity, Tom responded, "I must say, when you were carrying Saoirse there was never this much crying over when I ran the vacuum or did a spot of ironing. I thought you'd be pleased I was helping."

"I was! I am…" she sniffed. "Now you probably don't think I'm so beautiful." She pouted so prettily that Tom instantly melted and sobered.

"You know I would never think otherwise." He leaned back in to her. "So where was I? Oh, I was talking about your charms…"

She clicked her tongue. "Oh stop, I know you're being facetious. And we better hurry, we're going to be late." She turned back to face the mirror.

"What?" he stood up and asked in mock horror. "I _am_ a romantic, you know. It's all I know to be," he winked at her reflection.

Sybil's eyes narrowed into slits and she started rooting in her jewelry box. "It's quiet. Where's Saoirse?"

"I sent her outside – she was screaming like a banshee earlier that I couldn't get any writing done. I hope to God I don't run into Stewart. He's going to ask me about my draft if I do." He muttered this last part more to himself than to Sybil, as he ventured over to the window and looked out. "She's swinging on the gate."

"You know she's just really excited. You've built up her expectations about this parade."

"There's nothing wrong with encouraging her to dream, do you not think? I want her to have big dreams. But I don't want her to get shattered when she's disappointed."

"Oh my darling," Sybil turned around. "We've talked about this. She will be fine, she's not made of china. Have you noticed her attitude lately? She's fearless. And you know I think it's good to hope for something bigger than yourself, otherwise what's the point in life?"

Tom took a deep breath and nodded, "Well, if she's got anything to learn about shooting for the stars, I suppose she could learn a thing or two from me," which drew a short laugh from Sybil. Still watching his daughter, who was now moving to the hedge, he chuckled. "Oh, Tristan's already here. He's with Mabel in her garden."

"Stop spying, Tom!" Sybil gasped and went over to the window. "What are they doing?" she giggled. She handed her pearl horseshoe pin, her wedding gift from Tom, to him. "Here. Pin this on me, please? And move over, let me see…."

**x-x**

The church bells tolled the hour, and then rang ceremoniously, calling out to Dubliners like a pied piper. The loud peals signaled the start of the parade.

Saoirse felt goosebumps on her skin. Da was carrying her, and he, Mummy, Gran, Uncle Tristan, and Auntie Mabel were jockeying for a good spot on the parade route. There were so many cheering people! So many tantalizing sights and smells competed for her attention. She was a combination of excitement and nervousness that her three-year-old mind could not properly reconcile. She already had one dish of ice cream and several toffees, all of which were greedily gobbled.

"This is a good spot," Da remarked, and he put her on his shoulders. "You'll see better from up there."

From her perch, she could see everything. What should she focus on first? The licorice and biscuit vendors who walked the parade grounds with their wares? She could smell the caramelized corn and roasted peanuts a little boy was munching near her, and she made a mental note to ask Da to buy her some later. What about the grand marshal who led off the march, bedecked in a sash and smart jacket with buttons that glittered in the sunlight? Or the balloons that threatened to float away if one of those spidery strings were cut? She clapped her hands and squealed with delight when the brass marching band passed, horns blaring and drums beating a steady rhythm. Flag bearers in their pretty skirts danced and twirled their flags, and Saoirse looked at Mummy, remembering that she wanted to wave her own flag. "Mummy, my flag!" Mummy reached into her bag and handed it to her. "You tell us when you're feeling hot or tired, all right?" Saoirse nodded – everything was so amazing – just as Da properly described.

"Good afternoon!" boomed the voice of Jamie Stewart, Tom's editor. He tipped his hat to Sybil. "Mrs. Branson. Grand day for a parade. And hello to you, lass, you've got the best view of all of us up there."

"Hello, sir," Tom answered and made his introductions of his mother, brother, and Mabel.

Stewart proudly pulled a boy about nine years old forward, a hand on his shoulder. "This is my nephew Padraic. Maybe you've seen him delivering your morning news."

Sybil smiled. "Yes, he lives in our neighborhood. He's been doing a marvelous job."

Saoirse and Padraic just glared at each other, and from her lofty heights, she dared to stick her tongue out at him. Helpless to respond in kind, Padraic could do nothing but sullenly stare back.

"Enjoy the parade!" waved Stewart, ushering Padraic in front of him. "And I'll see you at the office on Monday, Tom."

Standing on the edge of the parade route, Tom felt his giddy daughter squirming on his shoulders and he gripped her legs tight. He looked over at his wife, her eyes sparkling, watching the parade, occasionally glancing up at Saoirse. On his left his mother stood, her eyes moist and she dabbed her handkerchief at her eyes as the great flag passed. To the right of Sybil was Mabel and his brother, who held his cap over his heart, his other hand held the hand of his fiancée's. Mabel's first husband gave his life to the cause of freedom, but Mabel was about to gain another one who loved Ireland just as deeply. They were the Irish Free State now, but there was more work to be done. Tom believed that the bid for true freedom continued, and one day it would happen – he just hoped it would come during his lifetime. The atmosphere, thick with a buoyant spirit, and the crowds, with their unfettered optimism, invigorated him. Tom observed the brilliant colors around him, and he felt an upsurge of patriotism. Out of scarlet furies and red battle scars burst forth rolling green hills, white hope, and orange sunsets. And he couldn't help but smile when he thought of the blue eyes of freedom, the eyes of his beloved Saoirse, and of Sybil – a dream of his own that had come true.


End file.
